Pinch Hit
by NeverMineToHold
Summary: It wasn't about the Cullen gang, or the ants, Tonto's madness or even about accepting his destiny as a Spirit Walker. Or: Just another day in John's crazy life... John/Tonto


Title: "Pinch Hit"

Status: Complete

Fandom: The Lone Ranger (2013)

Pairing(s)/Character(s): John Reid/Tonto, Silver

Disclaimer: Copyright at Walt Disney Studios. No infringement intended.

Rating: T

Genre: Alternate Universe – Canon, post-movie, slash, friendship, mild humor, character introspection

Warning: none

Summary: It was not about the Cullen gang, or the ants, Tonto's madness or even about accepting his destiny as a Spirit Walker. Just another day in John's crazy life...

Pinch Hit

Tonto was engaged in deep conversation. With an anthill, a little mound of dried mud, twigs and dirt, crawling and wriggling right under his nose while he muttered ominously. John, sitting astride Silver in the sparse shade cast by a cypress, watched the proceedings with helpless resignation.

He had been banned from the immediate premises, seeing as Silver had developed a taste for the fat, angry red ants. The daft beast probably liked how their acid tingled on its tongue, but they could hardly allow the stallion to eat them all. Not that their little eyewitnesses decided to plead the fifth and withhold vital information.

John snorted at his own thoughts, not bothered that they smacked of temporary insanity, and hid his grin behind the brim of his white hat. Being a Spirit Walker, it seemed par for the course. Also, he could no longer count how often he had managed to do, and survive, the impossible. Adding to that the visions, dreams, and the absence of all scars he should have had... well...

As William Shakespeare had so aptly put it: 'There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'

John shifted in the saddle, drops of sweat running down his neck to be soaked up by his collar. His dusty skin was starting to itch and peel. And to think that the day had started with luck (mostly) on their side:

Outlaws had tried to rob the very same bank Tonto and John just so happened to ride past. Upon bursting in, bullets, bonnets and a tomahawk went flying. One heroic Mexican standoff later the Cullen brothers and their posse managed to escape the wreckage of a formerly solid brick building, because two crying women had nothing better to do than cling to the famous Lone Ranger. - Which prompted Tonto to pinch him in a scandalous place to stake his claim...

That had been awkward. Anyways, no casualties, thank God, other than a dozen corsets, crinolines, and a fainting reverend. Naturally, they had given chase. And now, three hours later, here they were, the trail lost thanks to the wind.

"What is the matter?" John inquired after a few more minutes of listening to that ponderous grunting. "Are they not amenable to showing us the way?"

"Been very helpful," Tonto said with a grave nod that nearly dislodged his stuffed raven. He rose, brushing ants and sand from his buckskins, then pointed east. "Say that way."

John strained his eyes, seeing nothing but more non-descript dunes that stretched towards the horizon. Not that he had seriously expected to find any trace that the Cullen posse had come through. He wasn't worried, though: Tonto's special brand of madness had yet to lead them astray.

"That way." John shrugged. "All right."

"It is?"

John was torn between a grin at how astonished Tonto sounded that his ant-divined direction was not questioned and a guilty wince for all the times in the past where his skepticism had them at each others throat.

"Yes. I have utter faith in you."

"Hmm," Tonto hummed and swung himself into the saddle behind John. "As well you should."

"No need to sound so smug," John muttered, then jumped, feeling one warm hand settle on his hip, the other coming to rest on the flat of his stomach. Soft breath and lips teased along his earlobe. "W-we really need to get you a horse of your own!"

"Great Spirit Horse does not mind."

Silver snorted in agreement and started eastward at a quick trot, too impatient to wait for a command from his rider. Since John was too busy fighting the heat that threatened to burn his face to a crisp it was just as well. He quickly gave up and relaxed, inhaling the smell of clay and ash that always clung to Tonto.

Or tried to, but a leather saddle can be quite unforgiving for bruised skin.

"What is it?"

"...next time, pinch me somewhere else."

Tonto laughed, but at least he had the decency to make it up to John a few hours later, when they had made camp and settled in for the night. Needless to add, east turned out to be the right direction, a fact that spelled the end for the Cullen gang.

Eventually.

The End

R&R


End file.
